


For Golden Friends I Had

by gratednutmeg



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratednutmeg/pseuds/gratednutmeg
Summary: “Pos, am I an arsehole?”





	For Golden Friends I Had

**Author's Note:**

> Stuart Dakin, David Posner, a number of years after the film.
> 
> Title from A.E. Housman

“Pos, am I an arsehole?”

David Posner screamed and dropped the essays he’d brought home for marking in a snowy flurry.

There was a deeply put-upon sigh, and the light flicked on. Of course. Dakin was lounging across his sofa. Smoking. David thought of himself as reasonable, but he did chuck his shoe at Dakin’s head.

It missed.

“Well, I’ve had a terribly long day, and you’ve just broken into my flat, which you are now smoking in. I’ll have to consider carefully, but you appear to not be significantly less of an arsehole than when we were at school.” David started trying to retrieve the essays into some semblance of order and gave up. “Drink?” He was not entirely sure he was equipped to deal with this sober. “Never mind, you’re having one.”

They’d seen each other precisely three times since they’d left school. Most recently was four months ago at the bar downstairs from David’s flat. He’d had a long day of teaching and wanted a quiet drink. And of course, like the ghost of Christmas and crushes past, there Dakin was in a suit that looked tailored by god himself. A boy on one arm and a girl on the other, and even so, smirking at the waitress.

The only real surprise had been the slow smirk of recognition when he saw David, and that he’d brushed off both of his hangers on and come over to say hello. They’d reminisced, not entirely comfortably, and eventually devolved into toasting absent friends with lines of Houseman. But it had been Dakin — Stuart, honestly David, we’re not at school anymore — who’d suggested they ‘do it again next week.’ David had hated his treacherous heart the whole three flights of stairs up to his flat for leaping, and told himself it was just being friendly, nostalgic, and it had nothing to do with the bittersweet smile Dakin had flashed when David teased him for flinging himself at Irwin.

And then canceled, by text no less, the next morning, saying he was off to America to help an old friend in need, which was possibly the least believable part of all of it.

David splashed a hint of tonic over the mostly gin-filled glasses. Or perhaps not. But the point was, Stuart Dakin was on his couch, asking if he was an arsehole.

“So your friend no longer needs your help?”

“He needs all the help he can get, but it appears his… assistant has it well in hand.”

David paused. Manners won out over the desire to dump the gin and tonic over Dakin’s head and perhaps soak the smug, sloe-eyed look off his face. “Cheers.” They clinked glasses. “Are you telling me you—” Blew me off _by text_. “—Flew off to America at a moment’s notice for a _sex emergency_.”

Dakin shrugged, then frowned at his drink. “Fuck me, even on a teacher’s salary can’t you afford better liquor than this. And that’s right, more or less.”

David considered his drink, and all the steps and missteps in his life that had led him here. Exams, poetry. Hopeless longing. The only education worth having. “Yes, you are.”

“I am what.”

“A _complete_  arsehole.”


End file.
